


Pull Your Mask Down Through Your Hair

by dharmaavocado



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 13:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharmaavocado/pseuds/dharmaavocado
Summary: She turned on the kitchen light and filled the kettle, setting it on the stove before opening the back door.  “You need something?” she called.Miles jumped, and she was sure if there was a ceiling overhead he would have stuck to it.  Peter did the same whenever he was startled, instinctively leaping upwards.  All the spider-kids did.  It was funny, the traits they shared.In which May and Miles talk and some things stay sweet forever.





	Pull Your Mask Down Through Your Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Mountain Goats song _Animal Mask_.

There was a particular kind of silence to her kid trying to sneak in through her damned backyard, and May was out of bed and half in her robe before she even fully registered it. She told Peter to stop staying out so late. Spider-Man was important, but so was school, and he couldn’t afford to sleep through first period aga—Peter graduated nine years ago. Peter was dead. There was another kid under the mask now. 

It’d been months but she still forgot, and it was a punch to the throat, every time. God, she thought, knuckles pressed to her mouth, god let her bear it. 

She breathed through it and then belted her robe and fished her slippers from under the bed. Peter bought the robe as a mother’s day gift when he nine. He was so proud, nearly vibrating as she undid the ribbon on the package and tore the paper off. Ben unwrapped all his gifts neatly and carefully, but not her and Peter. 

“So impatient,” Ben chided them as the wrapping paper flew. “Slow down and savor the moment.” 

“Never,” she and Peter would chorus. Never. 

The robe was soft back then even before countless washings with cartoon cats stitched on each sleeve and across the back. 

“He picked it out himself,” Ben told her, later. “Even though I told him you never owned a cat in your life.” 

For her last birthday before he—before, Peter threatened to buy her a new one. 

“Absolutely not,” she told him. “I love that robe.” 

“You don’t even like cats,” Peter said, dancing around her to go the dishes. “And it’s falling apart. Let me keep you in the lap of mediocrity.” 

“It’s perfect,” she said, and handed him a towel to dry while she washed. 

He bought her the slippers instead. They were insulated and had a fancy tread and probably cost more than he could afford, but that was her Peter, always taking on too much and loving too fiercely because she never taught him otherwise. She never thought he would need to learn not to. 

She turned on the kitchen light and filled the kettle, setting it on the stove before opening the back door. “You need something?” she called. 

Miles jumped, and she was sure if there was a ceiling overhead he would have stuck to it. Peter did the same whenever he was startled, instinctively leaping upwards. All the spider-kids did. It was funny, the traits they shared. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Miles said, pushing the mask up. “I needed more web fluid.” 

“You know you’re always welcome. I brewed up a fresh batch the other day.” She stepped back and tilted her head. “I was making a cup of tea, if you want one.” Miles hesitated and she added, “I think I may still have some hot chocolate.” 

He nodded and followed her back inside. Her kitchen table survived the fight, although two of the chairs hadn’t. Miles took a seat, one leg curled up to his chest. That was like Peter, too. It took conscious thought for them to sit normally. They tended to curl into a crouch. She chided Peter about that, how terrible his posture was. In retaliation he would walk along the walls at a perfect perpendicular angle, that smart smirk in place until she shooed him down with a dish towel. 

The kettle whistled and she turned the burner off and dug the tea and hot chocolate packet from the cupboard. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Parker,” Miles said as she set his cup before him. 

“I told you to call me May.” She added milk to the tea. “You’re out late on a school night.” 

“We have an administrative day tomorrow.” He blew on his hot chocolate. “I thought I’d do a little more slinging tonight.” 

“Get anyone good?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “There was a mugging and some guys following a woman. I walked her home.” 

“Nice work.” 

He brightened at the praise, and May caught her breath at how young he was, younger than Peter was when he put on the mask for the first time. She stifled the urge to knit him a sweater. She was a terrible knitter, and Ben, whose stitches were neat and uniform, always laughed at her snarled, lumpy mess. How many terrible scarves did Peter end up with? Too many. 

“Something wrong?” she asked as Miles fiddled with his left web shooter. 

“No. Well, sort of?” 

“Sort of?” she prompted. 

“There’s like a second delay in release. I tried to look at it but I couldn’t see what was wrong.” He shrugged again. “It’s not a big deal.” 

That was, in fact, a very big deal. May didn’t need to dangle from a building to know that. 

“Tell you what,” she said. “You got tomorrow off. Stop by during normal business hours and we’ll take a look. There just might be some fluid buildup. That happens.” 

“Thanks.” He drew his other leg to his chest. Any moment he was going to perch on the back of the chair, May just knew it. She didn’t think any of them realized what tells they had, if you knew what to look for. That was her first clue something was going on with Peter. He moved differently after the bite. 

“Something on your mind?” she asked. 

Miles unclipped the web shooter, turning it between his hands. “How did you find out about Peter?” 

“I didn’t catch him in the act, so to speak,” she said, gentle. “It was a lot of little things. He was never a clumsy kid, but he started coming home with bruises and a broken nose. Do you know he actually tried to tell me he joined a gang?” She shook her head at the memory, so sweet it stung now. “He started staying out later, and he always seemed to know what was going on in the city. He never bothered to keep up with the news before. It just made sense, when I let myself think about it.” 

She stared down into her teacup. The set had been a wedding gift, and this was the only surviving piece. The handle had broken off only to be glued back on and it was easier to pick which parts of the rim weren’t chipped, but it was still here. It still worked. 

“And I found the chemicals he ordered for the web fluid,” she said. “That first formula smelled awful. I had to tweak it a bit.” 

“It smells nice now,” Miles said, and then, not looking at her, he added, “Were you mad at him?” 

“For being Spider-Man? No. I was afraid for him. I worried about him getting hurt, but he did such good. He helped people. I could never be mad about that.” She reached out and took Miles’ hand in her own. “But I was upset that he didn’t trust me with what he was.” 

“Oh,” he said in a small voice. 

“I was going to tell you,” Peter had said, looking at her with wide, terrified eyes. There was a fading bruise on his jaw. “I just didn’t know how.” 

May had made him matzo ball soup every time he caught a cold and scolded him when she caught him under the covers with a flashlight so he could read just one more chapter. She only bought the band-aids with cartoon animals on them because those were the only kind Peter wouldn’t pick out, and she never put raw peppers in his salad, and together they are every one of the casseroles their neighbors brought following Ben’s death. And she had loved him, so terribly and fiercely that it felt like its own kind of death. 

“Just tell me,” she said, brushing his hair from his face like she did when he was still small enough to fit in her arms. “You can tell me anything.” 

And Peter, her boy whose nose she wiped and whose brow she would kiss before he squirmed away, lifted his chin and said, “I'm Spider-Man. Is—is that okay?” 

“Of course it is,” she’d said, holding him tight, like she would be enough to keep away anything that would do him harm. God, she had been so stupid, but she’d tried so hard. She couldn’t do anything else. 

“Hey,” she said, ducking her head to catch Miles’ gaze. “Your parents love you.” 

“I know,” he said, soft. 

“They do. This isn’t going to change that. You have to trust them.” 

He nodded, and then, so quietly she almost missed it, he said, “I was there when he—I was there.” 

Well, she had known this was coming. She wished that made it easier. 

“I know,” she said. 

His eyes went wide. “How?” 

“The other Peter.” 

He hadn’t been her Peter and she wasn’t his May, but they were close enough that she could see the unfairness of it reflected in his eyes. 

“I should have done something.” His voice cracked. “I wanted to do something.” 

Her boy would have loved Miles. One version already did. 

“Look,” Peter would have said, towing Miles behind him. “I brought you another spider-kid!” 

That’s why she took all those different Spider-Men in. They were Peter’s people, and so they were also hers. 

“It’s not your fault,” she said. 

Miles blinked rapidly, jaw tight. “He knew about all of us, you know? Before he—before. He was dropped into the beam, and he saw us.” 

“He wasn’t alone,” May said, and pressed knuckles to her mouth. 

“He wasn’t,” Miles said. “We’re not.” 

She had been so afraid that he had been, at the end, but no, he had his people. She breathed through the clean pain of it, and said, “Thank you. Now finish your drink before it gets cold.” 

When they were done, she took the empty cups to the sink. “It’s late. Do you want to stay?” 

“No, but thank you” said Miles “Um, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Come in the afternoon,” she said. “We’ll get your web shooter sorted.” 

She walked him to the door, and he pulled his mask down over his face, hesitating. For a moment, she thought he might dart in for a hug, but instead he leaped gracefully onto the wall and crawled up onto the roof, crouched low so as not to draw attention. 

“Stay safe,” she said, and waited until he had swung out of sight before going back inside. She rinsed their cups and placed them on the drying rack, and then she turned out the lights as she went back to her room. 

Her slippers were kicked back under the bed, her robe tossed at the foot of the bed. There was another hole along the sleeve she would need to drag her sewing kit out for. The whole thing was more patches than robe at this point, the cartoon cats long since faded away, but it was still perfect, all these years later. There were things time couldn’t touch. 

She glanced out the window, but the street was quiet and clear. How many late nights did she end up here, waiting to hear Peter clamber back through his window? How many times did she imagine all the terrible things that could happen only for the worst to occur anyway? She used to think she couldn’t bear it, after Ben, but she could. She could. 

And now there was another kid under the mask, swinging through the same streets Peter once did, chasing that same sharp joy at the top of every arc. He wasn’t May’s responsibility to wait up for, but he was one of Peter’s people and that made him hers, for as long as she could bear it. 

She kept the light on, one last time, so they could all find their way home. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://dharmaavocado.tumblr.com/) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/Dharmaavocado).


End file.
